


Desperate Times Call For Reading Your Ex-Enemy's Diary

by loveandwarandmagick



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Simon, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Slow Burn, Watford (Simon Snow), baz has a diary to invade, but mostly simon, simon invades baz's privacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandwarandmagick/pseuds/loveandwarandmagick
Summary: Simon and Baz made a blood oath as children swearing to never hurt each other. Now that they're older, they've resorted to less conventional ways of showing that they hate each other. Which works well, up until it doesn't.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 24
Kudos: 214





	Desperate Times Call For Reading Your Ex-Enemy's Diary

**Author's Note:**

> hi y'all, i decided to take a break from editing the next chapter of "Into Thin Air," to write what was SUPPOSED to be a self-indulgent mini fic. by that i mean, it was supposed to be maybe 1-2k words and now,, here we are. i hope y'all enjoy this cause i certainly enjoyed writing it <3
> 
> inspired by this prompt: Two magicians made a blood oath when they were children that they would never harm each other. Now they are mortal enemies and have resorted to inconveniencing & annoying each other, knowing if they harm one another, they’ll die.
> 
> credit to: writing-prompt-s on Tumblr !

_“Promise, Simon?”_

  
_His hand stings with the weight of their combined magic. It had been dangerous to mix their power in the first place, and it had made the blood on their palms simmer with heat and turn black – Simon’s smoked out magic. They’re not quite sure if his essence is smoke; it’s not clear like with Penny’s and Baz’s – sage and fire. He starts to think that they’ve made a mistake, (the Mage would chastise them for being too young, scold Simon for fraternizing with a Pitch in the first place) until Baz grips his hand tighter to fight the slick slide of their skin, as blood pours from their palms._

  
_“This is the deal, okay?” His voice is soft, a rarity that Simon has only experienced a few times in the year they’ve lived together. “We’re not going to hurt each other, okay Simon? I won’t let my family get in the way of this.”_

  
_“I know. I won’t either,” he responds, a little stupidly, when the intensity of what they’re doing hits him._

  
_A blood oath. To fight against the war, to never harm each other when that’s all they’re expected to do in the end. He won’t, he doesn’t want to._

  
_For a Pitch, Baz isn’t all that bad. He’s lovely to share a room with – tidy and even cleans up for Simon when he’s too lazy, or he’s been working on homework. It’s probably driven by Baz’s hatred for messy rooms, but Simon doesn’t complain, even when Baz snarls at him from under his bed while he sweeps empty water bottles out from the bottom. He does a lot more snarling than normal speaking, and throws insults as often as Simon admits that they’re true for the most part._

  
_Baz is polite enough to hesitate on the next insult when Simon reveals that it bothers him. That’s another thing. He’s got so many good qualities that Simon can barely find a fault (except for the fact that he likes salt and vinegar flavoured crisps, ugh.) So, no they’re not friends, not exactly. He can be condescending sometimes and set Simon off more than he’d like to think about, but that’s more because his insults fringe on Simon’s insecurity. And he’s made it clear multiple times that he doesn’t mean any of it – Simon believes him. Baz is completely honest about everything. Another reason why Simon doesn’t want to kill him._

  
_He’s more than sure Baz dislikes him, if he doesn’t hate him altogether. They’re too different, made up of each thing the other boy lacks. Simon’s loud where Baz isn’t, both boys too stubborn to agree on anything. Neither of them wants to be a murderer, though, Simon supposes. That's something in common._

  
_Really, his biggest reason is Baz’s gaze, steadily avoiding their clasped hands. Simon can practically taste the blood between them, there's so much of it, and he can only imagine how strong the scent is to Baz._

  
_Baz the villain of this story, all because no one else fills the role. Baz, the vampire, the son of a power-hungry family. Simon cut his hand too deep on purpose and grabbed him immediately, holding him in place by their hands to watch his pupils dilate. Baz's shoulders shook with the effort of holding still, but he couldn't stop the way his body curled in on itself. His eyes looked black, in the fading light from the window. Simon knew then, confirmed what he’d known even before that._

  
_Entirely capable of winning in the end, because of what he is and yet, here they are. Promising not to cross that line._

  
_Most of all, he doesn’t want to kill Baz because there’s no way Baz would hurt him, ever. He doesn’t know why, but he trusts it well enough. After all, Simon's cross is on his bed, much too far away to protect him. His blood is filling up their hands as they wait for the magic to sink in properly, and they’re both still alive._

  
_He stares back quietly, his mouth a tense line across his face._

  
_The burn in his skin dissipates slowly and Baz tugs his hand back and locks himself in the bathroom._

**_Seven Years Later_ **

  
“Fuck _off_ , Snow.”

  
“You used to call me Simon,” he huffs back, dodging the dust cloud that Baz sends his way. It floats out the open window, and Simon lets out a triumphant noise before the breeze blows it back into his face. He sputters, trying to ignore Baz’s quiet scoff from behind him. “I don’t care what I used to call you,” he sneers, “stay on your side of the room.”

  
Simon had not been on Baz’s side of the room. At least, not for long. He’d just been trying to figure out the sticky spell they’d learned in Ms. Possibelf’s class that week to stick sandpaper to the inside of Baz’s sheets. He’d had Penny help him spell it invisible, so his sheets would be unbearably itchy and he’d have no clue why. Simon had giggled at the thought, finally getting revenge for the tiny pebbles that he’d been finding in his shoes for weeks. But then he’d spelled the paper to his own hands, and Baz had stepped out of the bathroom, eyes murderous as he spotted Simon sitting on his bed. 

  
He’s still blinking dust out of his eyes when Baz storms out of the room, presumably for breakfast. His hair is still dripping wet, Simon notices, as he shuts the door carefully behind him. It’s unlike him to leave the room without gelling it back, and even more unlikely that he wants to show up for breakfast at all (he doesn’t eat much). His curiosity peaks for a second as he checks the clock on his nightstand, seeing that there’s still thirty minutes until breakfast is served. He frowns to himself, contemplating what Baz has planned. Maybe he’ll convince Cook Pritchard to serve Simon’s least favorite breakfast. He’d done that for a week straight in their fifth year. No matter how early Simon got to breakfast, the cafeteria staff refused to serve any scones. 

  
He’d stomped over to Penny with his fifth bowl of cold oatmeal that week, as she snorted and pushed him a croissant and a mug of tea. 

  
But Baz never repeats himself. He always manages to come up with a brand new inconvenience for Simon to deal with, every week for the past three years. Simon had no choice but to get in on it. Each year that they returned to Watford after summer break, Baz had been more bitter, a touch too close to violent. By third year, he couldn’t stop himself from swearing at Simon at every chance he got. It reached a peak in fifth year, when he nearly broke their oath when he caught Simon following him around the catacombs. He’d hated him then, Simon was sure. If he hadn’t before, surely something had changed now. It was the closest Baz had ever come to hurting him in their time living together. 

  
He’d known since first year that Baz was a vampire, knew that he only ate the rats in the Catacombs his whole time enrolled at Watford. He only followed him because he didn’t want Baz getting into some stupid trouble, or finding new resources to plot out a new prank for Simon to deal with. He’d been furious when he finally saw Simon, creeping around a few meters back in the shadows.   
“ _Come out wherever you_ _are_ ,” he hissed, voice full of magic, and Simon fell to his knees in front of Baz. 

  
“What are you doing, Snow?” 

  
“Following you, idiot.”

  
Baz glared down at him, wand still out in his hand and shaking slightly. Simon stared straight through him, letting the spell hold him on the ground. Baz growled and looked away, but kept his wand out.

  
“Leave me alone. Go back to the room,” he said, voice shaking slightly. His whole body was shaking, Simon noticed. Alarm shot through him and pulled him to his feet, concern and guilt rising up in his gut. “Baz?” He reached out a hand, not quite sure what he was reaching for. His wrist, to settle his shaking hand, maybe. 

  
Before he’d gotten the chance, Baz made another sound, deep in his chest and staggered away from Simon. “ _Don’t_ ,” he’d said, but it sounded more like “ _please_.” Just as Simon was about to reach for him again, he raised his wand to rest the tip against Simon’s throat, eyes gleaming angrily. “Go, Simon.” 

"Get that away from me, you'll kill us both," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Baz stared at him, body slumping tiredly against Simon's own. " _Good,_ " he'd said, directly in his ear, chest heaving like he was taking his last breath.

  
Simon was too shocked, too tired to deal with this. He shook the thought from his head, shook the sound of his name in Baz’s voice from his mind and refused to dwell on it. He let his numb feet carry him all the way back to their room, collapsed on his bed and fell asleep nearly instantly. 

  
If Baz remembered it the next morning, he hadn’t brought it up. Simon waited for him to, and then stopped waiting when he remembered they weren’t friends, weren’t anything. There was nothing to expect. He wondered if he wanted an apology, but no. He wanted explanation. For the poorly concealed fear in Baz’s eyes, the anger. But Baz hadn’t explained, not that night in fifth year. He never explained how with each passing year, he despised Simon even more than the previous year. They still couldn’t hurt each other without it killing the other, but Simon wondered what had changed to make Baz _want_ to hurt him. 

  
Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn’t hear the quiet hissing from his wardrobe. The door rattles and then flies open. A polecat – a bloody big one – comes flying out at Simon, teeth bared. _Shit_.

  
When he shows up to class a half hour late, hungry and tired, and drops a covered cage on the teacher’s desk, he smells suspiciously of smoke. His shirt is wrinkled and tattered in some places, as are the rest of the clothes in his wardrobe. He ignores Agatha’s quiet gasp from across the room, and Baz’s pleased smirk when they make eye contact. Fuck you, he mouths at him, growling quietly at the way that his smirk turns into a full grin at this. He notices that his hair is gelled back to perfection now. An idea hits him as he watches Baz run a careful hand through it, and he nearly laughs out loud then.

___

  
Penny thinks he’s being stupid, as they magic up the hair dye. “Why not just mix hair depilatory cream in his shampoo?” She thought it’d be better to bald him, honestly. “Penny, that’d be cruel. Plus, he could just buy a wig until his hair grows back.”

  
She’d suggested pulling the wig off in class to get the most out of it. “Surely he’d stick it on with some glue or something,” he responded. She huffed and continued to add charms to the sticky paste in the bowl. “I don’t want to torture everyone else too. He’s one of the only good looking blokes in our year Penny, I’d be hurting all his admirers if I made him bald.”

  
She had the good grace not to comment at that. 

  
“I’m just saying,” she responded after a while, “It’s a better way to get back at him. Aren’t you trying to do that in the first place?” Her tone is so light that Simon doesn’t pick up the question in her voice. 

  
He’d told Penny about the oath at the beginning of their third year. They’d only been in classes for a week when Baz started to ignore him altogether. But when Baz found out about Agatha, about their relationship, he’d started to insult Simon at every chance he got. He’d ended up sobbing to Penny one night, making a mess of his sheets with tears while she lay on Baz’s bed and just listened. 

  
“I don’t even know why he’s being such a dick. We were friends, Penny! Or not, not friends. Or, I don’t know, but he promised never to hurt me, and I did the same, we promised. But it hurts, it hurts that he won’t stop! I haven’t given him a reason to hate me; it’s like he just hates everything about me.”

  
Something shifted in her face after he explained, some clarity came to her eyes. She’d excused herself with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and murmured reassurance, already twisting her ring on her finger like she was planning something out.

  
Baz walked in later that night after she’d gone. Simon opened his eyes just long enough to see his nostrils flare as he breathed in, but he took one look at Simon’s blotchy face and went straight into the bathroom. It was the last nice thing he’d done for him since. 

  
He thinks about that for a second, before responding carefully. “No, not back at him. I guess, it’s more cause he won’t stop, so I have to do something.”

  
She opens her mouth to speak but Simon laughs and cuts her off. “Yes it’s childish, I know. Hopefully this year will pass by quickly so we can hate each other passively,” he says, waving a hand over the mixture in front of him to make it clear. “Now come help me mix this into his conditioner bottle.”

  
Simon takes his time getting ready the next morning, making extra noise around the room to force Baz out of bed earlier than usual. He always wakes up too late so he can shower and go straight to lessons, instead of getting breakfast like everyone else. Simon’s secretly pleased that he doesn’t go, because it means more food for himself, but still; it just adds to the list of annoying things about Baz. He's always been in good shape since he skips meals and does football, better shape than Simon at least.

  
Simon sits on the edge of his bed after Baz grumbles his way into the bathroom and holds his breath until he hears the water start. It’d look suspicious if he didn’t leave to get food, but he refuses to miss the moment when Baz walks out with magenta hair. The sound of the water cutting off startles a breath out of him. Only a few minutes until…

  
The door opens slowly and Simon’s back to holding his breath until Baz comes into view, sparing a confused look at him before looking towards the clock on his desk. “Aren’t you supposed to be fighting the rest of the students for seconds by now, Snow?”

  
Maybe picking magenta was a mistake. Even the power that Penny poured into making the color extra strong couldn’t get past the black of Baz’s hair, apparently. Simon stares at his deep purple hair with wide eyes, unable to keep his mouth from opening. Baz narrows his eyes, reaching a hand to run through his hair. “Problem?” He asks, a bit hesitantly.

  
Simon briefly remembers that Baz doesn’t shower with the lights on in the mornings. There’s a small window that lets enough light in, but it’s still too dark to see anything well. Which explains his lack of reaction to the hair. “Uh nothing,” Simon says, much too quickly for Baz not to notice. He mutters something under his breath and turns away, and Simon bounds out of the room as fast as he can. Hopefully, he doesn’t check a mirror with the lights on.

  
As it turns out, he doesn’t. The second he walks in to class, right after Simon, nearly everyone turns to look (which is standard; everyone's either attracted to him or afraid of him). What isn’t standard is the whispering. “Nice hair.” Trixie says, loud as ever from the front row, “Did you dye it with magic or the Normal way?” Baz raises an eyebrow, flicking his eyes to Simon, who’s steadily avoiding eye contact. “The Normal way,” he says coolly, “did it this morning actually.”

  
Trixie looks impressed, eyes sparkling as she watches Baz walk to his assigned seat in the back, right behind Simon. “Morning, Snow. Do you like the dye job?” Simon sneaks a glance at him. He’s infuriatingly calm, staring at himself in a compact mirror that someone lent him. He looks good. More than that, actually. Simon lets himself stare at Baz openly now, taking in how well the shade suits him. It makes his grey eyes lighter, practically opaque now, and his jaw looks even sharper than it does usually. Merlin. It’s completely unfair and Simon finds himself sulking all day. 

  
He can’t take his eyes off Baz. That’s not new; he always has to keep tabs on him in case he’s plotting another scheme. But he finds himself wanting to touch his hair, furious that it looks just as soft as before. Surely dye ruins hair? He vaguely remembers Aggie saying something like that, or maybe it was bleach? He can’t even remember the last time they’d spoken, it’d be impossible to remember which at this point. Penny stares at Simon openly during dinner, as he stares Baz down. “Simon,” she says, probably not for the first time, “your food is going to get cold.”

  
“I’ll spell it warm.”

  
“You’ll set it on _fire_.”

  
“Then you can spell it warm for me.” 

  
She huffs, turning around to see what Simon’s eyes are stuck on. “Oh wow. That is not magenta. Didn’t the spell say ‘hot pink’?”’

  
“He looks _good_.”

  
“ _Simon_ ,” then, “Yeah okay, he does.”

  
“He does! It’s ridiculous, I can’t do a single thing to him without it failing, or him playing it off,” he fumes, then notices that she’s still staring at Baz. “Penny.” 

  
She turns around at the sound of his voice, guilt tugging at her features. There’s something else stirring behind her face though. “What?” He leans in closer to her, nearly knocking over his tea. She doesn’t answer, twisting her ring on her finger again and again. “Penny, what is it?”

  
“You’ve really never gotten back at him properly?” She asks, watching him carefully. He shakes his head.

  
Penny sighs with all the breath in her. “I’ll only help you this once, and only because you’ve dealt with him for the past six years and not had proper revenge. Mostly because I’m tired of getting involved.”

  
He grins. “You’re getting involved right now.” 

  
“Shut up,” she replies, and he does. “There’s one thing he can’t play off. Premal told me his friends pulled this on him during his third year…”

  
Simon wrinkles his nose when she’s done explaining. “But who would even send him the letters?” 

  
“You, obviously.” His face scrunches up even more. “But I’m not in love with him.”

  
“That’s why you’ll pretend Simon.” She looks like she regrets bringing it up already. “Maybe it’s a bad idea? Should you not?”

  
Simon catches Agatha’s eye where she’s sitting with a friend Simon hasn’t met. She purses her lips, looking towards Baz. He nods when he sees her, eyes trailing across her face and then towards Simon. “No,” he says, “it’ll be fine.”

He is slowly catching on to the fact that nothing he plans is ever just fine.

Simon uses the time that Baz is at football practice to sit at his desk and brainstorm after he showers. He has no idea how to start, much less finish a love letter. He wishes he had a reference or something, but Agatha’s never been the romantic sort. He looks around the room for clues and his eyes land on Baz’s side of the room. _Your bed is always made_ , he writes, before realizing that he’s Baz’s roommate, and therefore, the only person who sees his bed. “ _Stupid_ ,” he mutters under his breath, resuming his search for inspiration around the room. The only thing he can think of is the bookcase next to Baz’s bed. Surely there’s something romantic in his library? 

  
Simon stands up to search through it, tossing aside books that he knows are tragic because of Penny’s rambling during meals. He finds a small black book, embossed in gold lettering. _Pitch._ A diary? He feels something uncomfortable curl in his stomach, noticing that there’s no lock on it. If there’s something in here that could help him, surely it wouldn’t hurt? He’ll close his eyes and flip to a random page, settling on whatever he finds there and then he’ll put it away. He brushes his fingers along the pages, stopping when he feels one of them warm to his touch. 

  
Could it be enchanted? Simon takes his chances, figuring that it's magic guiding him. He flips it open, staring at the drawing on the page. He’s overwhelmed instantly. He didn’t know Baz could draw at all, but this is something else. It’s a sketch of one half of someone’s face, too up close for Simon to make out who it is. It’s a boy, he knows that from the strong line of his jaw, the cropped hair on the side of his head. He’s got this dazed expression, like maybe he’s lost in thought. It’s only as he traces the paper that he realizes the picture’s made up of a hundred tiny words.

_A self-portrait perhaps?_

  
He can only make out a few words, but most of them are too small or messy to decipher.

 _I can’t stand it._ _Kill me or tell me you hate me,_ written on the slope of a thick eyebrow.

  
 _How can you destroy me every day but still_ _be the only thing that saves me ?_ makes up the curve of the lips.

  
Simon’s breath comes out of him in a rush as he closes the book and slots in back into place in the shelf. He’s not sure if any of that was romantic or just really intense, but it works well enough. There’s enough desperation in the words to make something pour into Simon's chest. He knows desperate, he can write desperate well enough. Something about a love so strong that it destroys someone. He's sure that's the only way Baz _could_ ever love someone - an all consuming fire just like his magic. He sets all the books back on the case carefully, and goes back to sit at his desk, stiff and feeling distant. 

  
By the time he’s finished writing a full page, all the tension’s left his body and he feels hollowed out, like he’s just got everything off of his chest. Penny’s advice to him had been to take everything about Baz that annoyed him (or that he was jealous of) and twist them positively. He scans the page and cringes as he reads over what he read – _your eyes are the clearest shade of grey I’ve ever seen, beautiful._

  
He opts to fold up the paper instead of reading through it, drawing a heart on the front of it with a purple glitter pen Penny had left on his desk last time they were going over notes together for good measure. He slips it under Baz’s pillow just as he walks in the room, disheveled from practice and heading straight for the bathroom. As he walks in, Simon realizes that there’s no way someone could’ve gotten into their room to put it there, so he rushes over to pull it out and place it just by the door. He scrawls Baz’s name across the front in crooked cursive, just so there’s no mistaking it.  
He’s already in bed by the time Baz gets out.

Simon sits up blearily, pointing at the door. “There’s noise by the door,” he says softly, surprised by how tired he is. Even though he means to watch Baz open the letter, he drifts off before he gets to. The last thing he remembers is seeing him scoop down to pick it up, the surprise registering on his face as he opens it. 

  
When Simon wakes up the next morning and blinks the sleep from his eyes, Baz is already gone. He thinks for a second that he might be in the shower, but he can’t hear the water running, or smell Baz’s fancy shampoo, even though it usually fills the whole room with the smell of cedar. He decides to use the time to write another letter, a short one this time. He’ll leave it by the door so that Baz will come back and find it while Simon’s gone for breakfast, to avoid suspicion. 

  
It’s simple, sweet. A few lines, more compliments on his appearance mostly. It’s not hard to come up with things – Baz is probably the most attractive bloke he’s ever seen, it’s just fact – but it surprises Simon that he means the things he’s saying. Discomfort settles over him, so he throws in an _xoxo_ to throw off all the honesty on the page. This time, he doesn’t read it over before he leaves it on the floor to get ready for lessons. He knows exactly what he’s written this time, the words buzzing around in his brain all day. 

  
Simon writes more letters each day, some only a few sentences long and others two or three pages. He finally updates Penny on how it’s going a few days later, and lets her read a few of them at dinner, ignoring her worried faces. For once, he knows what she’s thinking before she says it. “Simon.” Her finger is stopped just after the word real.

  
“It’s fine Penny.” He has the whole sentence memorized because of how long it took for him to word it right, a whole hour just to make it sound good enough. He knows she thinks he’s taking it too far, giving him false hope, but he’s being truthful, which is something. _Sometimes when I look at you, I can hardly believe you’re real_. It's true though. Sometimes, Baz seems so removed from everyone else, it's like he’s in a tier all on his own. Simon wonders if there’s anyone who could be enough for him, if he wants there to be someone at all.

  
“Yes, I’m sure he is fine,” she says pointedly, dragging Simon from his thoughts, “He doesn’t really look bothered by it at all.”

  
Simon glances over at Baz’s table. He’s staring at something behind Simon, eyebrows furrowed like he’s trying to figure something out. “Well he looks like he’s about to have a stroke trying to solve what’s happening behind me,” he says, “Are Trixie and Keris feeding each other again?” He looks back to Penny when she shakes her head. 

  
“Agatha’s looking his way, I think.” She pauses, “Are they looking at each other?”

  
Simon spins around in his seat to look at her, despite Penny’s whisper shouts to turn back around. She’s got a small smile on her face, twirling a pink pen between her fingers. He turns back around just in time to catch Baz’s wink, and see the small sticky note sitting in front of him. His vision goes hazy for a second and the smell of smoke fills his nose before he can stop it. “Simon,” Penny warns, wrapping her fingers around his to settle him. He barely manages to pull back, but only cause he’s closed his eyes and Penny’s coaxing him with soft words. 

  
He only opens his eyes after she says “She’s gone.”

  
So is Baz. 

___ 

  
Simon’s fuming that night when he comes back to the room, later than usual. Baz is already back from practice. He kicks the door shut, not noticing the rigid set of Baz’s shoulders until he looks over at him, sitting at his desk with his head down. 

  
“Snow.”

  
He’s instantly worried. _Did he figure it out already? Is he going to get with Aggie in revenge? Or, what if he actually likes her?_

  
He supposes it’d make sense if he did like her. They’re both perfect, almost. But Agatha’s soft; human. She’s not the top of their class and sometimes she has bad hair days. Baz is… untouchable, in a way that she isn’t. He wonders if it’s a defense, if there’s something more to what he sees. If anyone else has seen it, or if he’s let Agatha in. 

  
She did write him a note after all.

  
“Am I going to sit here waiting for you to figure out how to speak all night, Snow? Skip speech therapy today?”

  
Simon tends to forget that on top of being perfect, Baz is insufferable to most people. There’s no way Agatha could handle it, if Simon’s only barely learned to manage it. 

  
“What do you want?” 

  
“Did you go through my things?”

  
Simon follows Baz’s gaze, landing on the bookcase by his desk. _Shit_. 

  
“I was looking for a book,” he mumbles back truthfully. Over time, Baz learned all his tells when he’s lying, and now Simon’s stuck telling the truth whenever he asks. Not that he’s forced to, but Baz always manages to torment him worse when he’s caught in a lie. He relaxes minutely, but Simon notices that he hasn’t looked away from his case, and the journal is gone from it’s usual spot. 

  
“Which one?”

  
Simon freezes, thankful that Baz is too preoccupied to notice the tension. Then he remembers Agatha’s note and says, “Aggie had asked me for a romance novel to borrow and well, I don’t read as much as you do.” He looks down at his hands when Baz turns to look at him. 

  
“You’re still speaking, Snow?”

  
“You asked me a question,” he says, confused and looks up to meet Baz’s eye. He scoffs and laughs a little, like he can’t help it. “I meant you and Wellbelove,” Baz clarifies, but Simon’s too distracted by the laugh to respond. Usually, Baz only laughs at Simon if he falls out of bed or stubs his toe coming into the room. Usually, a stupid response like that would’ve warranted an eye roll at the most.

  
“Well, no. But she asked Penny, and Penny asked me, so…” 

  
“Odd that Bunce would ask you about a book, considering you don’t read.”

  
“She asked me to ask you,” he lies, gritting his teeth and hoping his irritation distracts from the fact that he’s making it up as he goes. “I didn’t want to cause I knew you wouldn’t have lent me anything.” The truth tacked on at the end should be good enough to throw him off.

  
Baz seems to be satisfied, considering and letting out a quiet hum. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have. But don’t go through my things without my permission, Snow.” He stands up, grabbing his book bag and Simon is baffled by his easy tone, the way it’s more mocking than anything. There was something bigger in his expression a moment ago when he asked about Aggie, a flicker of something like alarm that doesn’t match his voice at all. “There’s spells on some of those books. _Curses_ , maybe.”

  
Simon opens his mouth as Baz opens the door. “Where are you, I mean what are you doing?” 

  
He gets a raised eyebrow in return. “To study, Crowley. We have a test tomorrow in Elocution,” he says, shutting the door behind him. Within minutes, Simon’s up, casting for birds with his magic. 

  
“ _SOS_ ,” the bird repeats as it flies out the window, “ _Urgent, dangerous horrible matter! Baz is gone, be quick!_ ”

  
Penny shows up in two minutes, huffing and completely red in the face, then spends the next ten minutes lecturing Simon about what should be considered an “urgent” matter. 

  
“You’re in a constant state of peril Simon, surely you understand that being dramatic when it’s not an emergency is unnecessary and alarming.”

  
“At least my spell held up,” he says, grinning when she taps him on the back of the head. “Pretty fast too, it must’ve worked well.”

  
“It was fast because the damn thing sped into the window and cracked it,” she huffs, catching her breath on Baz’s bed. “That’s not how the spell’s supposed to work by the way.”

  
“Okay, but you’re here now and that’s good. Now we talk.”

  
“About Baz?” Simon frowns at that and Penny has to stifle a laugh. “That’s all you talk about Simon, what else would we be talking about?”

  
He doesn’t dignify her with a response for a couple of minutes, until she coaxes him from silence and he begins to rant. For once, she listens to Simon when he tells her to get off of Baz’s bed, coming to lay on Simon’s as he paces around the room. He talks for so long that his jaw aches by the time he’s finished. “The weirdest thing is: he hasn’t even done anything, not this whole time since he’s started to get letters,” he says, looking over at Penny to gauge her reaction.

  
She’s squinting and half sitting up, “Maybe he’s tired of antagonizing you?” Simon shakes his head with enough conviction for Penny to laugh, but she hesitates before speaking again, “You said that you read his journal, that he writes poetry? And Agatha’s been writing him letters; they’ve been leaving together at dinner.”

  
“Penny, I don’t know-"

  
“He’s not even _here_ right now Simon, and it’s late. Maybe he is with her.”

  
It would surely explain the good moods he’s been coming home in. The satisfied, completely smug look as he meets Simon’s eyes coolly. He can’t stand not knowing what’s going on, knowing that someone else is making Baz feel like that. No one really knows him well enough to love him, not like Simon knows him, so how could he be with someone else? Someone who he can’t be wholly himself with? It makes him think back to the knight role he played in he and Aggie’s relationship, like he had to be The Chosen One when they were together and nothing else. 

  
He shudders as he voices his concerns to Penny, who raises her eyebrows in return. Christ, she’s become quite the Baz mirror. He knows that look on her face too well; skepticism and slight curiosity, like she has a question she already knows the answer to. “Have you considered that maybe you’re jealous, Simon?” She says it slowly, like she knows he’ll reject the notion immediately.   
He wrinkles his nose. “Jealous of Baz? For Agatha?” She looks surprised by his certainty.

“No, not that. I mean, it’s not hard to be jealous of him, he’s got everything going for him. I’ve been jealous of him,” he admits. “No. But maybe, maybe that he gets to be himself around her?” His jaw clenches as he tries to think of the words. “That she wants him for who she thinks he is and not for who he’s supposed to be?”

  
They stay silent for a bit as he processes his honesty, letting it sting a bit. There’s still something in Penny’s eyes as she pushes. “Anything else?” Her voice is quiet, careful. Simon’s scared suddenly that there’s something in his own feelings he’s missing. Like she sees something obvious in what’s happening that he doesn’t. “Penny? What am I missing?”

  
She looks guilty when she shakes her head. “You’ll have to figure it out yourself, Simon. I can’t be sure.”

  
He’s helpless; undeterred. “Could you tell me what you’re thinking, at least?” 

  
“Yes Bunce, please spare him the difficult task of having to think for himself,” Baz drawls from the doorway. Simon, who hadn't even heard him come in, growls and turns around to face him. They come nose to nose for a split second before Baz moves smoothly around him to look at Penny. His eyes shine, like he knows something they don’t. 

  
“I should go Simon,” she whispers, ignoring Baz’s stare as she kisses Simon’s cheek, walking out quickly. Simon doesn’t miss the way his eyes follow her while she leaves. He realizes he hasn’t said a word since Baz came in, not even to say bye to Penny. His thoughts are running circles in his mind, a gap in the middle with more questions. He doesn’t have time to sort it out, and certainly not now while Baz has his eyes turned towards Simon, a suspicious glint in them. Simon pushes past him, grabbing his bag off the floor with all his paper. He can’t think about this, this is why he doesn’t _think_.

But his thoughts run wild. Simon feels sick thinking of Agatha’s expectations for him, knowing what she thinks of dark creatures like vampires. He thinks of Baz, of every good thing he’s written about him and knows that he has to stop this, whatever it is. Baz hates him sure, and he’s made Simon’s life inconvenient for years. When he looks at him though, he sees the same boy who promised never to hurt him, all those years ago. Not the monster everyone would think of if they knew, just that boy.

  
He spends nearly all night in the library, writing letter after letter, and takes breaks to practice his elocution. The librarian nearly kicks him out for scattering his papers all over the floor when his pronunciation slips, and then warns him a second time when he shrinks the table instead of the paper on it. He picks up the papers from the floor, scanning through them carefully.

  
 _You’re so strong_. He thinks back to the drawing in the journal, having to keep all those feelings hidden. For some reason, he can’t imagine Agatha having inspired that type of feeling; that desperation. When he thinks of Baz’s strength, he pictures their first year, and every year after that, about the self-control that it must take to keep his secret. How hard it must be to slink down to the catacombs every time he’s hungry. A chill runs down his spine. He knows that Agatha would choose the word monster, over strong.

  
When he goes back to the room, it’s too dark. Baz sleeps with the curtains shut, so Simon stumbles towards the window and yanks them open a tiny bit. He can barely make him out in the bed next to him, but his hair is a dark shadow sprawled across his pillow. Simon lays on his side, not even bothering to get undressed, and stares at Baz, willing his mind to settle down. Once his eyes adjust to the dark, he’s able to see the slope of Baz’s nose, the curve of his jaw, peeking out from his arms.

  
He sleeps with his head hidden in his hands, like he’s hiding. Sometimes Simon wants to pull them down to his side, when he’s having nightmares, and tell him that he’s safer here in their room than anywhere. Because of the oath, but also because Simon doesn’t want to ever hurt him anyway.

  
He’s left all the letters in his bag to spread out over the week, hoping that he’ll pick this over Aggie. Simon’s eyes are only just closing as he processes his thought. What's _this_? Why would he pick the secret admirer he’s never met over a real person? Simon groans quietly at his realization and shoves his head under the pillow, willing sleep to come already. 

  
He wakes up late the next morning and has to skip breakfast to get to Elocution for the test on time.  
  
____

There is, in fact, not a test in Elocution. He takes every opportunity he gets to glare daggers at Baz, who responds with a smirk, as always. Simon’s going to write endlessly about how beautiful his smile is, how _infuriating_ it is that he wastes it on being rude. Later, when Simon gets back to the room there’s a note stuck to the outside of their door. By the way it shimmers slightly, he can tell Agatha used magic to stick it without having to come in to Mummers. 

  
“Of course,” he mutters, pulling it off to take it inside, “She complains about overusing magic but when it works for her, it’s quite alright.” His eyes flick across the small print, scoffing as he tosses it on the floor behind him. _Meet me on the bridge tonight? I’d like to speak with you about something important_. It’s signed, _Wellbelove_.

  
Well then, that’s splendid. Simon lies down on his bed, ignoring the burning he feels in his chest and lets himself fume over the whole thing. It’s like she’s trying to be him, or something. Using magic for passing notes when she has a roll of tape in her room, using her last name when she’s only ever gone by her first. Simon wonders what she’d do if he knew Baz used to call him by his first name, back when they were eleven. Probably throw a fit – it’d ruin his dark image, or whatever she’s after.

  
“ _He used to call me Simon_ ,” he’d say, “ _and he’s a vampire. You’re scared of them Aggie, you couldn’t handle it_.”

  
Simon lives with him. He’s probably the only one who could handle Baz, and who doesn’t mind it. 

  
If he knew that she’s barely powerful at all, would he still want her? It’d be hard to imagine him being satisfied with someone with watered down magic. Part of the reason the crucible pairs two roommates is their power level, and Simon’s got the most on campus, so Baz must be the closest. Their magic is compatible in type too – Simon finally figured out in his second year that his main element is smoke, and he’d known Baz’s was fire already. It works; they _match_. 

  
Aggie’s is floral. Remembering it makes Simon thinks of how delicate petals are, how fast they burn in just the sun.

  
The door slams and Baz walks in, hair scattered from running around at practice. Simon sits up, feeling guilty, and follows Baz’s eyes to the note on the carpet.

  
He turns to drop his gym bag by his desk, and by the time he turns back, Simon’s up already, foot covering the note as he stands in the middle of the room. Baz just stares at him, looking between Simon’s face and his foot.

“Snow,” he says, brows furrowed, “Move.”

  
“Uh, no. I think I’m okay here.”

  
His frown deepens. 

  
Simon laughs helplessly.

  
“What are you hiding?” He asks, just as Simon says, “This is my room too, I’m allowed to stand where I want.”

  
“Okay," Baz says slowly, like he's being extra idiotic, "But if that applies, and what you’re standing on is mine, you’ll need to move.”

  
“How do you know it’s yours?” Simon asks, digging his fingers into his palms so he doesn’t lose his nerve when Baz steps closer. He smells earthy, like mud and grass. Faintly like cigarettes. Simon wonders if he smokes. 

  
“Wellbelove told me she left me a note. Get off of it.”

  
“This is our room. What’s mine is yours and vice versa, right?” His voice weakens a tiny bit when Baz’s eyes narrow.

  
“Right. My books are for you to partake in too,” he replies with sharpness edging into his tone. “Move, Simon.” 

  
He’s so stunned by the use of his first name that he does, walking straight forward into Baz, who inches backwards. He’s watching him like he’s grown two heads, or maybe he’s glowing. Simon feels like he could be glowing. A warm buzz has settled over him like sunlight, and he thinks for a second that Baz may have spelled him, but he hasn’t even said anything. And Baz’s magic feels agonizingly hot for a brief second, not like this heat pooling under his skin. He’s still standing there, lost in the feeling when Baz places his hands on Simon’s arms to move him aside.

  
A current zips through his skin at the contact, bright and wonderful and _oh_. 

  
For a second, something shifts, and Simon feels completely right. They stand there, Baz’s fingers digging into Simon’s shoulders, with only a few inches between them, and it feels good. Like he’s sitting in the sun all of a sudden, and all the confusion has cleared away. He doesn’t have time to question it before the moment passes and terror shines bright in the grey eyes looking back at him. 

  
“Baz?”

  
“Simon.” His voice is a whisper before he clears his throat. “Move.”

  
He shuffles backwards slowly until the paper is uncovered. Baz leans forward to pick it up and is out the door before Simon can blink. For once, Simon has no choice but to think about what just happened. Or maybe he could call Penny. 

  
He shouldn’t call Penny though, cause then he’d have to explain what the hell just happened, and even he’s not really sure what it was. His heart is slamming against his chest so hard it actually aches, and he can still feel the heat of Baz’s hands on him. The only thing that he can compare it to is the feelings he had for Agatha, but that was nothing compared to this. Everything he’s feeling now is eclipsing anything he’s ever known before, and he’s spiraling too fast to process anything. 

  
He doesn’t want to think, just wants to get into bed and shut his eyes and forget this mess. Maybe he imagined everything, or dreamed it. But that won’t stop the feeling, the realization that he’s in love with Baz. Or at least, likes him a lot. He flops down onto his bed and buries himself under the covers to think, since that’s all he can do.

  
His mind, which sounds an awful lot like Penny, supplies him with plenty of reasons to never think about this again. One, he hates Simon, and has since forever ago.

  
 _But_ , he argues, _he didn’t always. And I wasn’t imagining earlier. Something happened._

  
His thoughts conjure up a weak argument about how maybe his cross stung Baz, but he glances at it pointedly on his nightstand to shut his thoughts down. He took it off weeks ago.

Simon wonders for a second if this means he's gay, then decides it doesn't matter right now. He supposes that he is - Baz is a man after all - but it really has nothing to do with Baz, which is what he's thinking about right now.

  
Two, even if something did happen; he’s on his way to see Agatha right now. 

  
Simon turns his head into his pillow and groans. That’s it then. Agatha will get him, with her sticky notes and glitter pink pens. Baz didn’t even bother to question the other notes (he probably tossed them by now, if he wants her so bad.) Simon lets out another, sadder noise at that. He’s vaguely aware that his magic is leaking out of him all over the room. He can smell the smoky smell like something’s on fire, and when he looks up to check, the room is a mess. There’s dozens of papers spilling out on to the floor, pouring out of Baz’s nightstand. The letters, then, still intact. Hope blooms in his chest.

  
His journal slides out from under his mattress last, landing lightly on Simon’s bed.

  
He wonders, as he stares at the journal, if he’d already had feelings when he was writing the letters, then groans again at how dense he’s been. He rubs a hand across his eyes, opting to add that question to his list of things to think about later. For now, he’s got to figure out what to do. Desperate times call for reading your ex-enemy and current crush’s journal to figure out who they have feelings for. 

  
He laughs a bit at his train of thought as he carefully flips open the first page. It’s blank, probably to throw off anyone intruding on his privacy.

  
He hesitates. It’d be smarter to leave it. If he finds that it is Agatha, well, the feelings would be unbearable to deal with. They’re already so bad; he can’t think properly beyond all the want building up. It’s all bubbling up inside of him, like he’s late to the realization and he can’t catch up fast enough for all his years of wasted time. And well, he’d rather know for sure that he has no chance anyway. That way he can spend the rest of this year avoiding him, make some excuse to The Mage as to why he can’t kill him in the final showdown (or whatever his family has in store), and then fuck off to live in some remote place with Penny, where nobody can find them ever again.

  
He breathes in, letting his fingers move between the pages. As soon as gets to one near the end, his fingertips burn slightly. _Please_ , he thinks. It’s a whisper, even said safely in his own head. He looks down at the page, filled all the way with Baz’s tight scrawl. 

  
_You’re so full of life. I can’t even breathe around you sometimes, it’s like you’re sucking the air straight from the room._ _I can’t imagine what I’ll do if I ever get my hands on you. I imagine it’d only be a dream and that I’d wake up the next morning with you on the other side of our war._

Awareness, brief and bright, flashes before Simon’s eyes. 

_I hate you so much for not seeing it. I love you, I love you, I love you. I have loved you since the beginning and I’ll love you even if I never have you. I can’t help it._

  
_Everything about you and everything you are, is all I need._   
_What do I do? Kill me or tell me you hate me, give me something that I know what to do with._

  
_It’s you_ , the paper reads. _Always you._

  
 _Who_? Simon thinks as he turns the page. And then he’s looking at himself, at a single line of words scrawled underneath a drawing of himself. His eyes are closed, head tipped to the side with his mouth open. He’s in full uniform, and there’s sunlight glinting through the open window and oh. It’s from the morning after he spent all night in the library. 

  
_I wonder where you go when your eyes are closed, whether we dream of the same things. Are you as hopeless as I am, or do you dream of something you can already hold?_

  
Simon doesn’t quite get it, but he knows that’s him on the page, knows now that it’s been him on every page before that. _It’s me_ , he thinks, over and over as he traces the pen marks on the page. He expects shock, fear, or anything else. He does not expect giddy elation, sending magic spilling over his edges. The room fills with golden, sparkling light, and it’s like the world is brighter suddenly. Simon realizes that it’s him, giving off sparks of light at his fingertips. He smiles, even though it doesn’t make any sense, not right now, not without Baz to explain. He has to find him, has to beg him to explain what he’s been doing pretending to hate Simon for so long. 

  
_He’s meeting Aggie right now_ , his mind hisses.

  
 _But he loves me_ , he thinks, right after it. He decides that he likes the bursting feeling in his chest as he runs out of the room to find Baz.

  
____

Simon floats down the stairs of Mummers without realizing, magic pouring out over him. Once he notices, he forces himself to breathe, slowing down to clench his fists and hold it in. He thanks Merlin, Morgana, and Methuselah that it works, jogging the rest of the way until he gets to the Lawn. Once he catches sight of Agatha, hair glowing in the setting sun, his excitement flickers out, doused in something cold and uncomfortable. The feeling is replaced by something entirely different when he sees Baz; fire and determination filling him up again.

  
 _Because we match_ , he thinks. _Because the sight of him takes the smoke in my chest and makes something out of it._ It’s enough to get him to start running again. Neither of them notice him until he’s threatening to crash into them, running so fast that he nearly passes by. “Oh my god,” Baz mutters, right as Agatha lets out a yelping, “Simon!” He pushes past his embarrassment, marching up to the two of them with as much courage as he can manage. His hands are shaking though, and his eyes keep bouncing between the two of them. 

  
“Well, Snow?” Baz sounds bored, but his eyes are frantic. He hasn’t looked at Agatha once since Simon interrupted them, and it helps press down his nervousness. He’s just opened his mouth to speak when Agatha starts, voice high and incredulous. “Simon, this doesn’t concern you.” He looks over at her helplessly and says, “It does. It really does Aggie, please –”

  
Her eyes are shooting daggers at him, and he glances at Baz for help. “Are you here to save the fair maiden from my evil clutches, Snow?” It sends a jolt through him, and he wants to drag him away from here and kiss him to shut him up for once, because he’s so impossible. He wants to hold him in place where he can’t run and pretend to like anyone else; wants to keep him there and tell him _it’s you_ , until Baz believes him. 

  
“You called me Simon earlier,” he says, voice impossibly small. Baz lifts an eyebrow, his mask remaining firm in place but his eyes betraying him. “I did, yes. Is there a problem?”

  
“Actually yes, there is,” Agatha interrupts, moving to stand closer to Baz, but keeping a deadly glare on Simon, “Simon, we’re trying to talk. You’re being rude.”

  
“I need to talk to him too, Aggie.”

  
She frowns at the nickname, “This doesn’t concern you,” she repeats, anger edging into her tone.

  
“Well we’re here for the same bloody reason, so it very well _should_ concern me,” he huffs in reply, forgetting his embarrassment as irritation rises in him.

  
“You’re also here to tell him you’ve written him a letter?” She asks, disbelief palpable in her tone, bitter and plain rude. It’s a very Baz remark, and he wants to call her out for trying to impress him. He has something to say though, no time to waste.

  
“I’ve written him dozens actually,” he tells her, then turns to him and says softer, “let me explain first, please.”

  
Agatha stares at them both stoically. Simon knows that face – it’s what she looks like when she figures something out and she’s not happy about it. Right now though, Aggie could burst out crying and Simon couldn’t bring himself to look away from Baz. His face is pinched, like he’s in pain, but his eyes are open and soft. _Hope_ , Simon thinks. _And fear; anger._

  
“Right,” Agatha says, “Well I’ll leave you two, to figure this out, I suppose.” She watches them for a second longer, shaking her head slightly like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing, and walks away. Simon lets out a shaky breath as she leaves, as he watches Baz’s face slowly return back to normal.

  
“I know you don’t have feelings for Agatha.” He says, instead of everything that actually matters.

  
“What if I do, Snow?”

  
He shakes his head, stepping closer to Baz. “You called me Simon earlier,” he says, but Baz hasn’t confirmed anything and that could mean absolutely nothing, so he adds, “And if you do, tell me so I won’t get in the way again.”

  
His face shifts, a mixture of frustration and curiosity playing out. “I thought you live to make my life difficult,” he huffs breathlessly.

  
“I just want you to be happy,” Simon breathes. “I do, I just –” He reaches up his hand, letting it linger between them. Searching for something, _anything_ from Baz. Something that tells him that he’s right, that this could be right. Baz looks down at his open palm, raising his hand until their fingers tangle together. Simon sighs as Baz closes his eyes and leans forward, like he can’t help it. They’re so close that he can see the grey smudges under his eyes, could probably count his eyelashes if he tried. 

  
“Simon,” he says quietly. _You’re a dream_ , Simon thinks, because this moment is too fragile to be real, and because Baz is so impossibly good that he can’t imagine that he deserves this happy ending. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says instead, because Baz’s eyes are still closed like he’s worried that when he opens them, he’ll be alone. He squeezes Simon’s hand. 

  
There’s questions hanging in the air around them, things that need to be said before this changes into something else. Simon thinks that if they kissed now, he’d never let go, not after all the time he spent trying to get away. Baz’s eyes flutter open, and he tugs at Simon’s hand. “Come on, let’s go home.”

  
Simon doesn’t let go of his hand for a second of their walk back. _Not anymore. I won’t let you be._

  
____

Baz is absolutely insufferable. Simon is absolutely mad about him, even so. Getting him to talk is like pulling teeth, not only because he seems deathly afraid that Simon’s going to change his mind (he isn’t) but because after years of pretending to hate Simon, his vocabulary includes an impressive range of insults. He stops after the third “idiot,” but only because Simon gets up from his own bed and goes to sit next to him.

  
“How long have you felt this way, Snow?” He asks, after a long pause. He's been staring at Simon like he’s trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

  
 _Jokes on you_ , Simon thinks, _I have no idea what I’m thinking either._

  
“Are you asking how long I’ve been obsessed with you or how long I’ve had feelings for you? Because I’ve been obsessed since I met you and I’ve liked you for probably just as long without noticing.”

  
Baz just snorts in reply. It’s a sound Simon has never heard him make before, and he grins. 

  
“And for you?” He asks through his smile. Baz doesn't even hesitate before answering.

  
“Yes.”

  
Simon frowns. “Yes?”

  
“I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel anything for you.” Simon’s eyes go wide and he can feel himself go horribly, irrevocably soft. “At first it was annoyance. Then disgust, the first time I saw you eat,” he adds, laughing when Simon’s face drop. “I’m going to pretend that you were being sweet,” Simon says, wrinkling his nose.

  
“I’m kidding about the second part,” Baz replies. Simon searches his face, finding nothing but truth, and feels his heart slam hard against his ribcage. “Okay. Ask me something else you want to know,” he says through a soft smile, inching closer to Baz.

  
He thinks for a second, eyes focusing on Simon’s hands. “How did you manage to write a novel's worth of things you like about me if you’ve hated me for the past six years?”

  
Simon flushes. “I didn’t hate you," he mumbles, "You hated me, I was responding to that.” He rolls his eyes when Baz grabs his hand, but blushes even harder. “I just took all the things that I was jealous of and all the things I thought I hated and twisted them to be compliments,” he adds.

  
Baz, to his credit, tries very hard not to laugh at that. “Well, now you know how I managed to pretend to hate you for so many years.”

  
“So you’re telling me that you secretly _like_ the fact that I leave my socks on your side of the room?” 

  
“ _Oh god no_ ,” he groans, leaning back when he catches the glint in Simon’s eye, “But most of everything else, I suppose.”

  
“So,” Simon says, leaning closer to close the distance. He relishes in the sharp breath Baz takes, in the way his fingers clench around Simon’s. “When you called my hair an ‘offending mop that would put a shag carpet to shame,’ you were secretly saying you liked it?”

  
Baz doesn’t answer. Instead, he pushes his hand up into Simon’s hair and leans even closer until their noses brush. Simon lets his eyes close and thinks about the journal entries – he had to explain to Baz why the room was a mess when they got back – and how his first thought when he read through them had been _strong_. And now, they’re sitting here and Baz is letting himself be vulnerable, answering questions and reaching out for Simon before he can himself.

  
“You’re brave,” Simon whispers.

  
“Why?” Baz whispers back, leaning even closer and shutting his eyes.

  
Simon meets him, pressing their lips together because he can’t help it anymore. The hand in his hair moves to the back of his head, cradling him close. _Because you saw every awful thing about me and chose to accept me regardless. Because you’re strong enough to keep going despite everything._

“Because,” he says as he pulls away, lips still brushing, “Just cause.” Baz does laugh this time, and pulls Simon in for another short kiss. It’s unbelievably good.

  
“Well I suppose I didn’t fall for your eloquence,” he says. 

  
After years, Simon’s finally figured out an effective way to shut Baz up. Damn if he's going to let it go to waste.


End file.
